Caffeinated Compassion
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Pre-S3-finale. H.R. tries to make Tracy Brand a French press coffee but his attempt's an epic fail. Iris, the ex-barista, takes over, and H.R. tells her how he wants to make this fine coffee for this fine woman as Iris makes a pour-over and the French press. They bond over their shared love of coffee and words, and their love for their significant others—a thoughtful conversation.


**_Soli Deo Gloria_**

 **I do NOT own The Flash.**

 **That season finale, am I right, guys?**

Iris could smell the coffee all the way from the control room. She excused herself from a repeat of team Flash's meetings about how to stop Savitar from killing her and followed the distinct alluring scent of coffee. She'd always loved coffee; she'd found a rare and fulfilling opportunity as a barista at Jitters. She was a lover of it ever since.

Just outside Cisco's lab she heard several hisses—some sounded like sharp gasps, others like a steaming wand from an espresso machine. Stepping in, she found H.R. by their new espresso machine. He hopped from one foot to the other, shaking one hand like he'd scalded it in a pot of hot water. All around him were the engulfing clouds of steam emitting from the steam wand he'd left on.

"H.R.!" Iris rushed over to him. She shut off the steam wand with a quick flick of the wrist. The clouds immediately disappeared.

"Ah, Iris West, how are you? I.W. just doesn't ' _click_ ' as B.A. or H.R. does, unfortunately," H.R. said. His usually cheerful voice didn't betray the fact that he was favoring his right hand. Those drops of perspiration on his forehead weren't just from the espresso machine.

"I'm fine, but I don't think you are. Did you burn yourself? What happened?" Iris sat him down in a swivel chair and surveyed him with worried eyes.

"Oh, nothing major. I was just trying to make some coffee for the lovely Tracy Brand and things got a _tiny_ bit out of hand." He waved his good hand like an unbalanced scale.

Iris put her hands on her hips. "How out of hand? How's your hand?" She came to his side and went to grab it. He waved her off good-naturedly, though. "Oh, it's nothing. I mean, it _is_ something, but nothing in the grand scheme of things. I just touched the hot espresso machine. I just need to shake it off. You know of coffee making burns. You worked at Jitters, didn't you?"

Iris relaxed a little. He reassured her that he was okay, and the mention of Jitters made her smile a little. "Yeah, I did. The first year that Barry was the Flash."

"There's a certain drink there that Tracy favors. The Flash—that wouldn't happen to be the result of your fantastically creative mind, would it?"

Iris smiled, folding her arms. She looked past H.R., remembering those months back at Jitters. "It is, actually. I spent so much down-time during my shifts creating new drinks for the secret menu. My co-workers and I passed away many hours making up those drinks."

"I could tell. That touch of cayenne tipped me off."

Iris shrugged unapologetically. "The red and the spice reminded me of the Flash."

"And Barry Allen?" H.R. was quiet.

"Well, yes, _and_ no. Barry's more like a triple-shot mocha. He's sweet and romantic but a lot of adrenaline." She laughed. H.R. smiled. She tried not to think about Barry right now as she looked over H.R.'s failed attempt. "So . . . what kind of coffee were you trying to make?"

"Well," H.R. said, leaning back in his swivel chair, "first try, I wanted to make her a French press. There's this roast she likes from this one special little hipster roaster place here in Central City. They're known for their experimental flavors and roast. It's this Indonesian roast, with hints of raspberry and coriander."

"Ooooh, that sounds good. I bet the cirtrus taste of the coriander complements the bright raspberry," Iris said seriously.

"Yes, exactly." H.R. pointed a hand at her, happy that _for once_ someone besides Tracy got his coffee tastes. "We'd only had that roast brewed like a regular coffee, so I was thinking, 'Hey, let's try it in a French press. Tracy will love it.'"

"So what happened?" Iris asked, wondering what kind of turn this story would take.

H.R. sighed and stood up. Next to the espresso machine was a French press coffeemaker, which looked like a glass pitcher surrounded by and full of metal contraptions. The metal contraption was barely noticeable, however, for the pitcher was full of a murky liquid that might _technically_ be coffee but would not pass for it in any respectable coffee shop. " _This happened_. It's supposed to be a dark but clear coffee when I pressed down on it. It looks like a stirred-up creek instead."

Iris examined it like a scientist would any questionable liquid. "Was it hard to press down?" she inquired.

"Yes, yes it was, actually."

"Your grind was too fine. You forced it through and it's yielded a cloudy coffee." Iris straightened.

"Is that your final diagnosis, Doctor?" H.R. asked, amused.

"Yes. My suggestion is that you either need a coarser grind or a different method." Iris picked up the open bag of already ground-up coffee. "Huh. This is a good grind for a pour-over." She met H.R.'s eyes and said, "Want me to make Tracy a pour-over?"

H.R. looked relieved. _"Please."_

Iris set about this. When H.R. had impulsively bought an entire bar's worth of coffee-making equipment, he'd used no restraint. She found a pour-over, which looked like a clay funnel with a small hole in the bottom of it. She put a regular coffee filter in it and a couple of ounces of the ground coffee. "So, H.R.," she said, making conversation as she filled a kettle with hot water from the espresso machine, "why were you using a steam wand? French press coffee doesn't need steamed milk."

"After my failure, I was trying to then make myself a latte. Espresso calms my nerves, weirdly enough," H.R. said uncertainly.

"I totally believe that," Iris said, nodding.

"I pulled the espresso just fine but I still need to take a few milk-steaming lessons," H.R. said, looking down into a mug he'd filled with the espresso shots.

"Well, how about, once this whole Savitar business dies down, I show you a few moves?" Iris said.

They met eyes. That meant she thought she was going to live. They both _wanted_ her to—and neither wanted to doubt Barry's meta human abilities or his love for her. . . but still . . .

H.R. raised his mug to her. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Iris West."

Iris carefully poured the boiling-hot water around the coffee filter in a circular motion. A little dripping of coffee fell from the bottom of the funnel into a mug. Once she'd poured in enough water, she let time take its course as the water worked through the finely ground beans.

"So, you and Tracy have hit it off pretty well," Iris said casually.

Just the mention of Tracy made H.R.'s bright eyes even more brilliant. He blushed and couldn't meet Iris's eyes, like he was a schoolboy crushing on a smart girl. He fiddled with the handle of his mug and said, "You've noticed correctly." He nodded to all the fantastic designs and prototypes and thingamabobs she'd created. "She is unlike any woman I've ever met. She's so unaware of her own brilliance, so unsure of her own abilities. She's modest, which is something, you know, I'm not."

Iris tilted her head to one side. She wasn't saying he was right, but she also wasn't saying he was wrong, either. Anxious to keep her hands busy while the pour-over brewed, Iris found a bag of unground beans. She pulsed some in a coffee grinder while H.R. looked off in space—he was a writer trying in vain to find the right words that could fully encompass who Tracy Brand was. Iris washed out the French press in the sink by the espresso machine. This kept her busy—if she stopped, she'd think. She'd start thinking about subjects it didn't do well to dwell on right now—Savitar, her probably inevitable death, her engagement, a wedding and marriage that might never be— _Barry Allen—_

"She's all brains and smarts, but she's so _fun_ , Iris! She gets that life needs laughter, like I do. I just . . . I wanted to make some fine coffee for a fine woman. She makes me want to work harder, laugh harder, be more _there_ , _do_ more. You know I'm not much of a doer. I'm more of a talker, a dreamer. Tracy, though, she's a doer, a _being_ , not a dreamer. She makes me want to _be_ more."

"She inspires you to do your best and be a better person," Iris said quietly.

Iris was a writer, too. She could find the right words for what he meant.

H.R. snapped his fingers. "Exactly! How'd you get that just right, Iris?" he wondered.

"Because that's what every significant other does for their own significant other. For Tracy, _you_ inspire her to do her best and be a better person. Barry's the same thing for me. I get it because . . . I get it." Iris looked away and sighed. She pulled the mug away from the pour-over and poured two more mugs full of the French press coffee. "There you are." She smiled. "Take your pick."

"Iris West, these look like a professional barista made these." H.R. caught himself. "Oh wait. . ."

Iris cocked her head and smiled. H.R. smiled and put down his espresso mug. He picked up the two cups. "Pour-over in my left, French press in my right?"

"Exactly."

"And which one are you drinking?"

"I've always been inclined to the French press myself," she said, warming her hands around the second cup of French press.

H.R. looked thoughtful. "Funny, I think I recall hearing B.A. say the same thing."

"Really? I've never seen him order it. The only time I've seen him drink it is when I make it for him in the mornings," Iris mused.

"Maybe that's the reason it's his favorite." H.R. gave her a grateful smile and tapped her mug in a toast with the two mugs in his hands. "Thanks for saving the day, Iris West."

"Thanks for the talk, H.R." Iris smiled back.

H.R. almost flew out of the room, somehow not dripping any coffee on the floor, leaving Iris standing alone with her French press in hand. A moment or two passed. Then she quickly poured some of the French press coffee into a red mug, and went to go spent a few precious minutes drinking a fine coffee with her fine fiancé.

 **D'awwwwww. I was hoping for a bonding scene between H.R. and Iris. He did, after all, save her life in the finale. Not to mention coffee and writing are loves shared by both. That connects them a bit, I think.**

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


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